


Creature Fear

by mareeca



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Creepy Uncle Peter Hale, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fights, Guilt, M/M, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Protective Derek, Sad Derek Hale, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Unresolved Tension, Work In Progress, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:13:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareeca/pseuds/mareeca
Summary: Derek’s naked back was facing him, and Stiles’ eyes followed the expanse of bare skin to where it was sheathed by a white sheet around his ass, and then his eyes returned to his back as slender arms wrapped around him, and red nails scratched down his skin. After waking up bloody and shivering in the preserve with no memory of how he got there or what he did, Stiles goes to Derek's loft. When he gets there, he finds that Derek's not alone…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys and gals! This is my first fic so I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Part 1 and part 2 of season 3 are concurrent in this story (Stiles struggles with the Nogitsune at the same time everyone is trying to find the Darach aka Jen Jen)
> 
> This fic is titled after the song "Creature Fear" by my absolute favourite, Bon Iver.

Stiles looked into the mirror. There was a speck of blood just below his eyelid that he would have otherwise dismissed as his own. But things weren’t the same recently. He wasn’t the same. 

He looked into the mirror at that tiny spot of red, and his attention was drawn to the dark circles beneath his eyelids. He knew he hadn’t been sleeping, but this only confirmed his newfound suspicion that something was terribly wrong with him. He felt the darkness beneath his eyes mirrored somewhere deep inside him. 

He sucked in long breath, willing himself not to panic, and washed his face. He was on his own tonight, his dad working a late shift down at the station. It hadn’t bothered him before, having planned to follow up on some leads about the Darach (AKA the pack’s latest supernatural terror). But now, after his latest discovery, coupled with the beginning of a thunderstorm and the knowledge that he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, Stiles was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was alone. 

Alone and hungry. 

Well, at least he could rectify one of those. 

Having barred all carbohydrates from the house on account of his father’s impending liver failure, Stiles opted for something healthy. He opened the cupboard---

Stiles’ eyes opened slowly, and he realized that (1) he was outside, possibly in the preserve, (2) he was lying on his side, shivering cold, (3) he had absolutely no idea what he’d done or how he got there, (4) there was blood on his hands, and (5) he was on the brink of a panic attack. 

When he somehow managed to get his feet, he wiped the blood clean on his dark jeans in a fit of horror. Then he began to run, and while he ran he attempted to stifle the revelation that the danger couldn’t be outrun. 

When Stiles emerged from the preserve, wet and bloody, he found his jeep. He got behind the wheel even though his hands were shaking and started the ignition after seconds of fumbling. Then, in his panic-induced haze, he drove to the one place he felt he could go. 

Stiles was too messed up to notice the car parked outside of Derek’s usually abandoned loft, and so, when he climbed the stairs, the only hesitation in his heart was that Derek would be grumpy Stiles woke him up. When Stiles approached the door, he definitely wasn’t expecting for it to be unlocked. He especially wasn’t expecting for it to be open just a sliver, allowing Stiles and anyone else view into Derek’s sacred apartment. 

That’s when the source of Stiles’ panic shifted. Derek never left his apartment unlocked. What if someone broke in? Or, more likely, what if something broke in? 

Stiles slowly opened the door and stepped inside, mentally wishing he was equipped with his trusty baseball bat. When the entranceway, living room and kitchen all proved to be empty, he moved down the hall. That’s when he began to hear it: quiet grunts and whimpers. 

At hearing Derek in pain, Stiles broke into a run, stopping outside of Derek’s bedroom for only a second before ripping the door open. 

Stiles stood wide-eyed, frozen.

Derek’s naked back was facing him, and Stiles’ eyes followed the expanse of bare skin to where it was sheathed by a white sheet around his ass, and then his eyes returned to his back as slender arms wrapped around him, and red nails scratched down his skin. 

For just a moment within his haze, Stiles envisioned those arms belonging to Kate Argent, but then the image of Peter tearing her throat out filled his head and he knew it couldn’t be. Besides, Derek’s head had moved slightly to the left, allowing him to view the woman’s face. He now recognised her as his new English teacher – the pretty young twenty-something who established her “hip” and “innovative” brand of teaching by opening class with a mass text to her students. Stiles felt sick to his stomach.

Deep down he knew that Derek would never share in his inane, juvenile feelings. Still, the prolonged looks and constant touching had Stiles holding out this small hope. That's what really fucked him up as he stood there, watching broody, emotionally detached Derek naked in the arms of somebody else. 

Stiles didn’t know what came first; didn’t know if he stumbled back into the door or if Derek’s wolfy senses merely alerted his presence before the two made eye contact. From there, it all just went to hell.

Derek’s face paled and his eyes glowed (which he attempted to hide from Jennifer by closing them and blindly fumbling his way around, maybe trying to get to Stiles or maybe just trying to find some pants). Jennifer… Stiles couldn’t look at Jennifer. So he merely shook his head and attempted to get the hell out of there, somehow smacking into both the wall and the door in the process. Somewhere he knew he shouldn’t be reacting this way. That he should be trying to mask his hurt and milk the typical Stiles reaction and crack a joke. He knew at the very least that he should just apologise for barging into Derek’s loft and ruining their night. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do any of that. He was running and there were tears in his eyes and the panic he’d somehow suppressed in lieu of shock was now surging through his veins and he couldn’t breathe. He just wanted to get out of there, and so he ran through the open door and slammed it behind him, ignoring what he thought was Derek’s feeble calling of his name. 

 

Derek didn’t know what he was doing. He hadn’t been with a woman, been with anyone since Kate, and now he was in bed with that woman he’d rescued from the high school. A woman he barely knew. A woman who was digging her nails too hard into his skin and whose breath was too hot on his neck and whose kissing was…how can someone kiss wrong? To restate, Derek had no idea what the fuck he was doing. 

He was tired of being a failure. He was tired of finding more and more innocent sacrifices as the appetite of this thing became even more fervent. Mostly, he was tired of being alone. Of not having what he truly wanted. And so, when a pretty girl came into his life, all wavy brown hair and cute smiles, he took advantage of the opportunity. He used her. A substitute for his secret desires. 

She was whispering sweet nothings that turned sour in the space between her lips and his ear, when Derek smelt it. He’d been so preoccupied with his shame that he’d neglected to notice the trace of vanilla in the air, usually so distinct but in that moment nearly masked by the overwhelming scents of blood, grass, rain and hurt. He threw his head over his shoulder and his wide eyes met with Stiles’.

He stood like a deer in headlights in Derek’s doorway, and Derek had to fight his shift as he realised what he’d done. What Stiles had seen. What he’d undoubtedly made him think. The two merely stared at each other before they each sprung into action, Derek making a bid for Stiles and Stiles making a bid for the door. He realised mid-action that he was currently naked, and so he reached for his pants, careful to shield his eyes from the human woman in his bed. He called out Stiles’ name before realising how utterly strange this must’ve been for Jennifer. He managed to regain control once he was clothed, and he turned to her with a simple yet genuine, “I’m sorry.”

Then he was out the door.

 

Stiles only ran for so long before the emotions overwhelmed him, and he threw his back against the nearest brick wall and fought for breath. His vision had started to blur thanks to his tears and he willed himself to pull it together, but there was blood on his hands and he hadn’t slept in days and he couldn’t drive and Derek… Stiles slid down the wall and tucked his head into his knees. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

“Stiles.”

Stiles shrunk away from the voice, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. He could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage and he just wanted to go home. He wished he never came here. Wherever here was. 

“Stiles.”

This time a hand accompanied the voice, big and hot and too heavy on his shoulder. He tried to protest but he couldn’t speak, only suck in small breaths that didn’t seem to reach his lungs. 

Now the hand was attempting to pry his arms from their vice grip around his knees, and Stiles wanted to hit whomever it was. But then they were forcing his head up and Stiles was looking at his own hands. 

“Count with me. Okay? One…two…three…”

Stiles sobbed quietly, trying to hide face once again.

“Come on, Stiles. You can do this. Four…five…”

It seemed like forever before Stiles muttered a weak “six”, and then a “seven, eight, nine.” By the time he got to ten, he could see clearly again. And he was looking into Derek’s eyes. And then he was looking at Derek’s bare chest. And then he thought he might be sick. 

Derek’s eyes tracked Stiles’, and he sighed. There was so much hurt in his eyes that Stiles couldn’t understand. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles rasped out. “I didn’t know that… That you’d be…”

Derek winced. “Why did you come here?”

Stiles’ gaze seemed to fall onto his jeans at the same moment Derek’s did. Derek stilled, hands tightening where they were still holding Stiles’ wrists. “What happened?”

“It’s not my blood,” Stiles told him, and the words kind of lingered in the air before Stiles couldn’t take it any longer, and his voice broke as he said, “Something’s wrong with me, Derek.”

And Derek just looked at him. And he looked so sad, like he believed him. And that hurt more than what he’d just witnessed in Derek’s loft. Because Stiles knew then that this was real, and that he’d lost control of himself. 

“I think I hurt someone,” he whispered, and then his face was buried in Derek’s chest and he didn’t know whether he put it there or Derek did. But they were both hugging each other tight and suddenly none of it mattered. Not the fact that Derek was shirtless because he’d just been fucking somebody else. Or that something very dark had found its way into Stiles. Or that two people could love each other and not be together. It didn’t matter because the two of them were there, and they were alive, and they were hugging each other for the first time in their lives, and it was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - so this was originally supposed to be a one-shot but I've just finished a book and need something to break up the monotony of editing. So here we are! I hope you enjoy whatever this turns out to be. 
> 
>  
> 
> xx

Ever since their moment outside the loft, each baring their own brand of vulnerability, Stiles and Derek hadn’t been the same. 

Scratch that; they were worse.

Derek had resorted back to his leather jackets and pointed scowls. Stiles had…well, he’d never actually diverged from his signature plaid shirt and hoodie combo, but he’d gone back to feeling like he genuinely annoyed Derek. Any progress they’d both willfully made over the past few weeks, whether it be studying the latest supernatural terror in their lives over at Derek’s loft or merely managing to keep Stiles’ cranium from colliding with any surfaces, had been evidently erased. That was why, when Stiles came out of the bathroom, freshly showered with a grey hoodie half over his body, he nearly squawked at the sight of Derek standing by his wardrobe. 

“Dude,” he muttered. “You can’t just, like…take a creeper hiatus, okay? You’ve either gotta be consistent about it or just be normal and, like, not show up in my bedroom unannounced at 10pm.”

Derek didn’t answer, moving forward instead, and Stiles suppressed the urge to take a step back. “What do you want?” he asked.

“It’s about the Darach.”

“What about him? Her? It?”

“Whatever it is, it seems to be targeting a new faction. Young people, mostly. High schoolers.”

“And?”

Derek looked slightly uncomfortable. “Virgins.”

Stiles let out a huff of air. “Oh, well…great. That’s just great. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about losing pockets of time and waking up with blood on my clothes, now I have to worry about being ritualistically sacrificed.”

Derek cleared his throat awkwardly, and Stiles knew he should be embarrassed, but he just didn’t have the energy to care anymore about stuff like that. Besides, it’s not like the entire population of Beacon Hills High didn’t already know. Hell, he’d be surprised if his elderly neighbor Mrs Potts hadn’t already figured it out. She was always baking him cookies and sending him reassuring smiles. It’s like he carried a freaking sign or something. 

“So, what, you’ve come to warn me? Because, wow, thanks dude.”

“I just thought I’d make you aware,” Derek said. “It’s my job to make the pack conscious of any new developments.”

“But you thought you’d come to my house specifically?”

“Stiles.”

“No, Derek, it’s fine. Thank you for the warning. I’ll be sure to add popping my cherry to my high list of priorities.”

At that, Derek’s eyes flashed. “Don’t be stupid, Stiles.”

“How is that stupid? How is doing the one thing that could ensure my survival, and maybe, oh, I don’t know, make me look like less of a freaking loser, stupid? I think it sounds like a pretty logical idea to me.”

“So, what? You’re just going to go out on the street and proposition the first girl you see?”

Fuck him. Just, _fuck_ him. 

“Fuck you, Derek.”

Derek’s jaw tensed. “I’m just looking out for you, Stiles.”

“Who asked you to, huh? Who the hell asked you?”

“You did,” he said. “You did, when you came to my house all those weeks ago.”

“I wasn’t myself that night.”

“Neither was I.”

Stiles scoffed, and Derek narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I’m pretty sure that night was a shining example of exactly who you are.”

“So this is about Jennifer?”

“No – fuck,” Stiles rubbed his eyes. “Of course not. This about you thinking you’re so much better than me just because you get laid every once in a while. It’s a lot harder for the rest of us.”

“Stiles---”

“And, for the record, the only reason I came to you that night was because I didn’t want to come home. I didn’t want my dad finding out, and you were closer than Scott’s house.”

Derek just stared at him, his eyebrows saying ‘fuck you too’ but his eyes saying something else. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself,” he said finally.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said, stalking back towards the window. “It means nothing, Stiles. Forget it.”

“Don’t come back,” Stiles said once he was gone. And he knew Derek heard him, because he didn’t. 

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

“Dude, what’s going on with you and Derek?”

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Dude, I know something’s up. The two of you hardly speak anymore. At our last pack meeting, I swear, the two of you communicated solely through glares.”

Stiles didn’t respond, too busy doodling ‘I hate Derek’ on the underside of his desk. Scott sighed.

“Please just sort it out, okay? I know you two are, like, the most stubborn people I’ve ever met, but you need to put whatever shit you’re dealing with aside. It’s not fair on the rest of the pack. He’s ten times meaner to all of us when he’s mad at you.” 

“Sounds like a you and Derek problem,” Stiles muttered. 

“Mr McCall, Mr Stilinski, that’s enough chatting, please.”

Stiles felt his blood curdle, hand tightening around his pencil. Miss Blake returned her gaze to the papers she was grading, and Stiles resisted the urge to cross out his little Derek defamation and write something like, ‘Miss Blake is royal fucking douchebag' or 'Jenny the English teacher screws werewolves’.

In the end, he just snapped his pencil in half.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

Stiles was in the parking lot when he got approached by Ms Blake.

“Stiles,” she said, startling him, and he nearly dropped his keys. Did she just call him Stiles?

“Uh, Miss Blake.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Stiles---” Yep, she definitely did, ---“but I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Can we do it later? I really have to get home.”

“It’s actually kind of urgent.”

Stiles mentally sighed, setting his keys and wallet on the roof of his jeep. He turned to Ms Blake and flashed her one of his best, ‘I don’t run with werewolves or totally despise your very being’ smiles. 

“This is a little awkward,” she began, and – oh no. Please, this could not be going where he thought it was going. “And I know this is completely inappropriate, but ever since the murders started there’s been a lot of police visits to the school. I just…well, I guess I just wanted to ensure that you’re not going to say anything to them.”

“About?” Stiles asked, genuinely confused.

Ms Blake’s cheeks reddened. “About a few weeks ago. About what you saw.”

“Are you talking about you and Derek?”

She flailed, frantically gazing around the near empty parking lot. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m talking about Derek.”

“And why would you and Derek be something I’d tell the police? Pretty sure you're both consenting adults.”

“You’re right, we are. But, well, I guess I was just worried that you might do something brazen in an attempt to get me in trouble.”

“Why would I do that?”

Ms Blake rolled her eyes. “Stiles, you’re a big boy. Don’t make me spell this out for you.” 

Stiles just gaped at her.

“Because you’re jealous.”

Stiles swore his vision darkened at the edges. His hands started to shake. “I’m _jealous_? Of what exactly?”

“Of Derek and me.”

“And where the hell would you get that idea?”

“Well, I mean, there was your reaction to seeing the two of us together. Also…” she trailed off, looking slightly uncomfortable. 

“Also what?”

“Well…I shouldn’t repeat this, but…Derek told me that you had feelings for him.”

And that was when Stiles’ vision went red. He swiped his keys off the top of his jeep, and the sound of his failing engine rolling and rumbling did well to drown out the rest of Ms Blake’s words.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

“You,” Stiles said, attempting to barge his way through Derek and into his loft. Derek gently pushed him back.

“Stiles, I can’t talk right now.”

“Oh, you can’t talk? Really, Derek? Because I heard talking was your new favourite activity.” And, okay, that was probably the stupidest thing anyone has ever said to anyone, but it was the best he could come up with on the spot. 

“Stiles, I really can’t talk.”

“You don’t get a say in this, Derek!”

“You need to go,” he said, his eyes flashing red in an attempt to persuade him. It only succeeded in making his heart race a little – more in surprise than anything.

“I can’t believe you. I honestly, just… Look, I have seen you done a lot of bad things to a lot of bad people who probably deserve it. And I mean really, really bad, violent things.”

“Stiles.”

“And maybe this seems petty in contrast. Okay, it’s definitely petty in contrast---”

“ _Stiles_.”

“But somehow it just seems worse than all that other stuff. It feels worse because you did it to me.”

Derek’s expression stilled briefly. He watched Stiles for a few seconds, frowning, before a light seemed to switch on in his mind. “Stiles.”

“That’s my name,” Stiles said, smiling weakly. “That’s the name of the fucking idiot who actually believed you were a decent person. The one who apparently _has a crush on you_.”

And that’s when Derek slowly stepped back, revealing that someone else had been in his loft this entire time. Someone with heightened hearing and a slow, conniving grin.

“Well, isn’t this a surprising revelation.”

_Peter_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Just wanted to make it clear that this fic is ongoing. I don't know exactly what my posting schedule will be but I'll always try to get new chapters to you as soon as they're done. 
> 
> Also, just a reminder that season 3 and season 4 of Teen Wolf are concurrent in this story. The sacrifice with Stiles, Scott and Allison never happened and, thus, Stiles never went to Eichen House and had his saucy little escapade with Malia. He's also being targeted by the Nogistune for an alternative reason. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter! I appreciate comments so much even though I'm slack and don't respond to all! So please keep them coming as I do read them :)

"What the hell is going on here?"

Peter held a hand to his chest in mock offence. "I was expecting a warmer welcome from you, Stiles. I'm only here to help after all."

"Help?" Stiles scoffed. He looked at Derek. "Are you serious?"

"Peter may be able to offer some insight into what's been happening to you lately---"

"Wait, you - you told him?" Stiles asked, feeling seriously betrayed by his voice when it decided to crack in the middle of his sentence. 

"Peter has a lot of experience with the supernatural---"

"Yeah, so does Deaton! The only difference being that _he_ isn't an arrogant, psychopathic, homicidal werewolf."

"I may be arrogant and homicidal," Peter interjected, "but I'm hardly a psychopath."

"Yeah, right. You just sent the better part of a year pretending to be a catatonic burn victim. Because that's totally normal."

The hint of a smile ghosted Peter's lips. "I've missed you, Stiles."

"Yeah, well, the feeling is definitely not mutual."

"Let's just get to the point here," Derek said, sounding irritated. "Peter wants to help you. I've heard him out. Listened to his heartbeat. I trust his motives."

"Oh, I trust them too," Stiles said. "I trust that the only reason he wants to help me is to get something in return."

"Always so clever," Peter smiled fondly. "You're correct, Stiles. I would like something in return. A new girl has just enrolled in your school that goes by the name of Malia Tate."

"Malia? The werecoyote we rescued? What does she have to do with anything?"

"Malia is my daughter," he explained, and Stiles nearly choked on his breath.

"What...what the hell? You daughter? Are you sure? Oh man, that poor girl... Derek has to deal with creepy uncle Peter; I can only imagine what creepy daddy Peter is like."

Something came over Peter's face when Stiles said _daddy_ Peter---a look of intrigue, perhaps---and Derek growled low in his throat.

"Cut to the chase, Peter."

Peter smiled, clearly amused by his nephew's reaction. "I promise to help Stiles control his...well, lack of control, in exchange for him befriending my daughter and grooming her as a potential pack member."

"No," Derek said. "All new pack members go through me. And we're not looking to expand."

"How do we even know this girl can be trusted?" Stiles asked. "Doesn't she have, like, the mental capacity of an eight-year-old werecoyote?"

"It's either trust her, or let whatever darkness is encroaching on Stiles' mind consume him completely. And, trust me, it will happen. Slowly but surely, you'll start to lose sleep - which, judging by those dark circles beneath your eyes, you've already started to do. Next, you'll start waking up in random places with no idea how you got there."

Stiles' eyes flickered to Derek's, and the older man shifted his stance, his jaw clenching.

The nightmares you're already having, they'll start getting more vivid, Stiles. So vivid you won't be able to distinguish them from reality. You'll slowly lose your mind until---"

"Okay," Derek cut in. "We get it."

"H-how do you know all this?" Stiles asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"Because, despite my youthful good looks, I've been around a long time. I've seen things. And what you're experiencing sounds awfully close to the symptoms of possession. Those of us who have experienced tragedy, especially mortals, are easy targets for malevolent spirits. They feed off your anguish."

"How do we get it out of him?" Derek asked.

"I have a few theories. Theories that I'd be happy to share once Malia receives an introductory welcome to the Hale/McCall pack."

And with that, Peter sauntered out of the loft, brushing Stiles' shoulder slightly as he went.

Stiles suddenly felt the urge to take an air shower.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I'll do it," Derek said. "I'll let Malia into the pack if it'll get you the help you need."

"Or, you know, you could just flash your alpha eyes at him and make him tell you. It's like the ultimate interrogation technique."

"I can't risk the repercussions. I've thought this through, and trusting Peter seems like the most logical decision."

"At least you thought _this_ decision through," Stiles muttered, his scent souring once again.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Stiles, you do realise that was a rhetorical 'what', right? I can hear everything. I can literally hear the blood rushing beneath your skin."

"Geez," Stiles said. "With statements like that, you'll start to rival Peter for ultimate werewolf creeper."

"Stiles," Derek sighed. 

"I just don't get it. I don't get why... Okay, I guess I do get why you chose her. She's sort of hot in that 'I want to bang my teacher' kind of way, except you're twenty-four, which is probably the same age as her, so maybe you just think she's pretty. Maybe you think she's beautiful. I don't know. It doesn't matter! What matters is that you felt the need to embarrass me, to make up shit about me that isn't even true."

Derek felt himself wince slightly. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I had to explain why you were at the loft that night. It's the first thing I could come up with."

"The first thing?" Stiles asks, gaping at him. "Well, points for creativity. I personally would have gone with, 'he's my younger cousin' since, you know, we've already pulled that one before. But sure, I guess making me look like a jealous little twink makes sense. That way, I'm the only that has to deal with the potentially harmful consequences. You just get to keep being you. Get to keep looking like you. Tall and masculine and desirable. You get to look like you and I get to look like me."

Derek felt his stomach churn. "Stiles, I'm sorry. I had---"

"You had no choice. Yeah, sure."

"No," Derek said, hands tightening into fists. "I had...I had to think of something that would make sense. Something that would explain why you reacted the way you did. Why _we_ reacted the way we did."

Stiles stilled. He watched Derek with wide, curious eyes. "And how did we react?"

"Jesus, Stiles. Don't make me spell it out for you."

"Well maybe I need things spelt out for me! Maybe it's nice to have things explained every once in a while! I'm not a mind reader, for Christ's---" And then Derek's lips were on his. And it was slow and chaste and Derek felt something warm pooling in his stomach. 

Stiles didn't respond at first, standing shock still where Derek had him lightly pressed against the door. And that something warm quickly turned hot and shameful in Derek's stomach. Oh, God. What the hell was he doing?

"You..." Derek started, pulling back. "I'm sorry."

And then Stiles was pulling him forward to meet his mouth, but this time it was hard and fast and feverish. Derek pinned Stiles against the wall in a move that would be painful if Derek couldn't smell Stiles' arousal overpowering his every other sense. He wants. Fuck, he _wants_.

"Stop," Derek breathed, and Stiles instantly stilled.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?"

Derek squeezed his eyes closed, hand tightening around the doorframe beside Stiles' head. What the hell was he doing? Stiles was seventeen and being possessed by God knows what and - fuck, was this even Stiles right now? Did Stiles even want Derek?

"You need to go."

Stiles winced. "Um. Okay. If that's what you want. But can you explain to me what the hell just happened?"

"I can't...be with you like this."

"Like how?"

"Like this!" Derek said, gesturing to Stiles' entire body. Stiles' eyes softened.

"Okay," he said, voice rasping. "Okay. I'll go."

"Don't come back for a while. At least - at least not until I've figured this out."

"Right," Stiles muttered, his jaw tightening. His eyes were shining and he looked so sad, so angry. "Well, call me when you do, okay? You call me when you figure out whatever it is that's holding you back and you stop being such a fucking coward."

Derek didn't respond, just stood there, reaffirming everything Stiles was saying about him.

"You know what?' he said. "Actually don't call me. You don't even have my fucking number, anyway! Two years of being in your pack and you still text Scott to tell me things. You have everyone's number except mine, because you never asked."

Derek closed his eyes.

"Jesus, Derek. Say something! I know your vocabulary historically consists of glares and thinly veiled threats, but please, pull something out just for me. Please," Stiles asked, voice breaking into a whisper.

"Stiles..."

Stiles stood there for a few more seconds, waiting for him to continue. Then he let out a breathy laugh, rubbing at his eyes.

"You know what hurts the most, Derek?"

Derek didn't look at him.

"The fact that you can decide to fuck Jennifer on a whim, but after two years of you and I saving each other's lives, you still don't even know if you want to kiss me."

Derek did want to kiss him. Wanted to be selfish and let himself have just this small piece of Stiles. Wanted to let himself be _her_.

"Is it because I'm a guy?"

 _No_ , Derek wanted to say. _It's because you're you_.

____

____

____

____

____But he didn't say any of that. He just lowered his head in what Stiles clearly interpreted as a nod._ _ _ _

____Because when Derek looked up, he was gone._ _ _ _


End file.
